


Where Words Fail

by marvelandimagine



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Secret Crush, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6248146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelandimagine/pseuds/marvelandimagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vladimir x reader. Reader and Vladimir both have strong feelings for the other, but haven't admitted it. Things change for both of them, however, as the two spend time together at the reader's photography exhibit opening and realize that it's worth taking a chance on each other. FLUFFY AND SWEET AS HELL</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“FRIENDS. You should swing by my gallery opening tonight at Danziger in Chelsea (521 West 23rd near High Line)!! I don’t care that none of you probably give a shit about photography, just come and make it look like there’s actual interested humans coming out to see my work so more rich people will buy pictures and then I can pay my rent on time. If helping yo girl out isn’t enough reason, there’s free food and booze and tons of classy ladies to hit on (bring your gfs idc the more the goddamn merrier) so please come through! I’ll be forever grateful, THANKS BOYS”

You add in the grinning emoji and prayer hands for good measure to your text, creating the group as you type in ten of your favorite lower-level co-workers names before typing in Piotr, Sergei and Anatoly. Your pulse quickens as you type in a V, waiting for the resulting name to pop up and selecting Vladimir with a small smile. Before you can overthink yourself into a hole, you press send, covering your hands over your eyes with a groan and falling back onto your mattress with an exasperated chuckle. No matter how hard you’ve tried, you can’t shake the feeling in your chest that you get whenever your blond boss is around.

“Goddammit, you’ve got it bad, Y/N,” you sigh to yourself. You check the time on your phone and roll up from your bed, grabbing a towel as you head off to shower and get ready. You figure you should look your best at your exhibition for your own confidence and to improve the perception of potential buyers – and if a certain blond Russian happened to come, you certainly wouldn’t mind having him see you in a dress and stilettos.

-

Vladimir hears a chuckle across his office, glancing up from his paperwork to see his brother shaking his head and looking at his phone screen.

“What?” Vladimir asks, looking back down at Leland’s latest figures.

“Y/N,” Anatoly says nonchalantly from the leather couch, trying to suppress the knowing smile on his face as his brother’s spiky blond head snaps upward. 

Vladimir curses inwardly at the recognition of his heart skipping a beat upon hearing your name and realizes how eager his reaction must have seemed to his brother and tries to play it off. He clears his throat, trying his best to sound vaguely bored. “What about her?”

Anatoly tilts his chin up, gesturing at Vladimir’s iPhone sitting face down on his desk. Vladimir reaches for his phone as his brother starts to speak. “Her photography exhibit opens in Chelsea tonight, she invited a bunch of us to, ah, ‘help yo girl out’ and come stop by so she’ll get more attention from buyers.”

He watches patiently as Vladimir’s eyes zoom back and forth across the screen. As he reads your words, he can’t help the way the corner of his mouth turns up as he hears your sweet, playful voice ringing in his head.

“You gonna go?” Anatoly asks lightly, waiting to see his older brother’s reaction.

“Are you?” Vladimir counters. He knows he wants to – hell, he’d burn the city to the ground for you if you asked – but he likes you too much and is too worried about being alone with you; worrying that he’ll be awkward and not know how to act or what to say. At least with some of his men there, he has someone to fall back on if he needs an excuse to bail.

“You’ve killed men with bare hands, yet scared of making fool of yourself in front of this girl. You’ve got it bad, Ranskahov,” he thinks darkly to himself.

This, these feelings he has for you, it’s a whole new experience for him; exhilarating and confusing and absolutely terrifying all at once. He knows he doesn’t want to be just friends and he doesn’t want you as a one night stand. And this new territory, the thought of a real relationship with you, the dizzy feeling he gets at the thought of your lips against his and your head on his chest, it fills him with an aching that he’s never dealt with. He’s never wanted something so badly.

Vladimir snaps out of his musings as Anatoly nods. “Yeah, it’ll be cool to see Y/N’s art. And Dina’s been upset about me spending so much time here lately, so she’ll be thrilled when I tell her we’re doing something other than staying home.”

Vladimir makes a noncommittal “hm” in his throat. It still threw him off that his brother had a girlfriend, but it threw him off more that he wanted you to be his. “Maybe I go.” He looks seriously at Anatoly. “Let me know when you get there.”

 

Anatoly nods, a teasing light emerging in his dark eyes. He moves toward the door, stopping to call back. “I think Y/N would be really happy if you do, Volodya.”

“Why?” Vladimir questions quickly, his heartbeat picking up involuntarily. Did you say anything about him to his brother?

Anatoly chuckles again and Vladimir scowls. “You two get along well, you know?” he says lightly, trying to avoid completely pissing the temperamental blond off. Anyone with eyes can see how much Vladimir likes you and how much you like him – everyone except the two of you. And since Vladimir is 500x happier when you’re around, everyone in the garage is praying desperately that the two of you finally get together. Anatoly knows that both of you just need a little push.

We’re friends, Tolya,” Vladimir says firmly, the warning note in his voice causing Anatoly to raise his hands in a gesture of surrender.

“OK, OK, friends.” He steps out the door, poking only his head back in and taking a deep breath. “But you want more than that, don’t you?”

That does it for Vladimir’s temper. “OUT!” he yells in frustration, predictably hurling a shot glass at the door as Anatoly slams it shut quickly. He calls back from outside: “Maybe I won’t let you know when I’m there, shithead. Stop being pussy and go see her.”

Vladimir snarls, striding across the room to rip the door open, but Anatoly is smart enough to have vanished. Vladimir slams the door, fuming as he sits down at his desk, rubbing his temples. He grabs his phone again and opens up Photos. He scrolls for a few seconds before finding what he was searching for: the video you had taken of him on his phone while you, him and Anatoly had driven together to meet up with Wesley.

You were DJ-ing and had put on “Bitch Better Have My Money,” knowing full well that Vladimir wouldn’t be able to resist––you had driven with him enough to know what songs he liked and what he didn’t.

He smiles as he watches the video, taking in your long hair blowing in the breeze rolling through the cab, singing along just as loudly as he is before pressing a finger to your lips and slyly turning the camera on him, your giggles stifled as you try to remain stealthy in capturing this rare moment of Vladimir actually relaxed. He’s driving with one hand, the other out of the window of the cab and gesturing animatedly with the music. His dark sunglasses mask his

eyes, but the blue is sparkling underneath.  
“Kamikaze if you think you gonna knock me off the top. Shit, your wife in the backseat of my brand new foreign car. Don’t act like you forgot, I call the shots, sh –––YOU’RE RECORDING ME Y/N?!?!”

You cackle triumphantly as he swears, trying to wrestle the phone out of your grip.

“Nooooo, I’m saving this forever! Big scary boss lovin his Rihanna … I feel like Sergei would LOVE to see this.”

“NYET, give it back!”  
The camera shakes as Vladimir growls in exasperation; your hand easily pushing his out of reach of the phone while you turn your back against him with a laugh, shrieking as he abandons the wheel entirely and two tattooed hands now scrabble at your wrist before turning to attack your sides.

“TICKLING, ARE WE 5?!” you shriek through your laughter.

The video turns blurry in the scuffle, but your voice is audible above both of your laughs and Anatoly’s feeble yells of “EYES FORWARD, YOU ARE DRIVING VOLODYA!”

The video ends, the sound of your happy laughter still echoing in Vladimir’s head. And that video shows what you do to him. You challenge him, tease him, and you let himself just be for once in his life. To be happy, free.

“You know she will be happy if you’re there,” a nagging voice in his head says. Vladimir sighs as his imagination goes into overdrive––thinking of the feeling of your excited hug, if he can somehow manage to get you alone to press his lips to yours, your arms winding around him as his hand slides up your dress ….

“She doesn’t feel the same way, though.” “But how do you know if you don’t try?”

Vladimir snaps out of his thoughts, flipping back to your text and looking at the time. He chews at his lip in a moment of indecision before shaking his head, throwing his phone in his pocket and grabbing his jacket and keys, shutting the door of his office behind him. If he really is going to go, he might as well go home and shower up first. He has a pretty girl to see.


	2. Chapter 2

You extract yourself from the throng of people, moving to stand in front of the exhibit and run a hand through your loose, braided updo with incredulity. Never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined that so many people would show up to see this exhibit – in fact, you had downed two glasses of the wine at the gallery bar before your exhibit officially opened in the event that you would have to confront the opposite. But here you were and here real people were, real people interested in your art, chatter and bright indie music and laughter rebounding off the exposed brick walls.

You look across the gallery and see the curator, your friend Latoya, enthusiastically gesticulating at your work to an intrigued couple and your heart swells with gratitude. You catch her eye and she waves happily, earning a happy smile from you. You’ve already had about a dozen or so individuals approach you about purchasing some of your work – and offering extremely generous amounts of money in the process.

You stay fixated in this moment, savoring the breathless sense of excitement and pride surging through your chest as compliments from both strangers and friends – Sergei and his wife, Anatoly and Dina, some of your favorite men on the street – echo in your head. But as happy as you are, you’re still missing something.

“He still might come,” a voice inside you chirps hopefully. ”You know tonight would be absolutely perfect if he was here.“

“Yeah, but he probably isn’t into this scene anyways. And even if he does come, it’s not like it’ll lead into some magical fairy tale moment or something,” you counter back.

You can’t help yourself, though, spinning an image of Vladimir smiling at you that jumps to his tattooed hands weaving into your hair, pressing his lips to yours fiercely.

You feel your cheeks start to heat up and inhale deeply, shutting the image out and trying to bring yourself back to reality.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you’re driving yourself crazy over this guy. Let’s focus on what is, Y/N. Focus on what’s right in front of you, what’s real.” 

You let out a satisfied exhale, soothed slightly by your musings but break out of your reverie as you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around.

“WELL FUCK ME,” your brain shrieks.

It’s Vladimir. He’s smiling that goddamn smile of his – the one that makes you want to just take him right then and there – but his body language doesn’t seem to match the expression on his countenance. His hands are balled into fists in the pockets of his dark jacket and he’s fidgeting slightly, his 6 foot something frame radiating a tense kind of nervousness. It’s almost endearing how awkward he seems – he’s usually so confident and it’s kind of sweet to see him looking unsure, less hardened.

“Fuck me,” Vladimir’s brain murmurs. His blue grey eyes rake your body quickly, taking in your tight-fitting floral dress, stilettos and makeup; his heartbeat picking up at the sweet smile you give him in return for his.

Before you can open your mouth, he decides to open his.

“You look different,” he blurts out.

You look at him in surprise, a look that intensifies when you notice the color spreading to his cheeks.

“Smooth, shithead,” he yells internally, trying to keep his frustration inside.

He’s relieved, then, when you laugh and cock one eyebrow and hold your hands up in question.

“Good different or bad different?”

He nods quickly, seeking to rectify what could have been perceived as an insult.

“Definitely good. Good different.”

You beam at him, trying to keep yourself from running around the gallery and flailing your arms in victory.

“KEEP YOUR COOL, WOMAN, HE THINKS YOU LOOK GOOD, LET’S KEEP THIS SHIT GOING.”

You manage to keep your composure and laugh, pulling him into a quick hug, murmuring playfully into his ear:

“Good answer, Ranskahov.”

He chuckles and it’s hard not to linger in his embrace, breathing in the aromas of leather, gunpowder and some kind of cologne that just embodies Vladimir to you: smoky and sexy but with a warmth that draws you in every time.

You don’t know it, but he’s finding it hard to pull away as well, savoring the clean, bright floral smell that he’s come to love and notice whenever you’re close to him.

You reluctantly let go and the two of you stand there for an awkward second before you start talking happily.

“I’m glad you came, I’m surprised though, I figured you would come with your brother.”

Vladimir shrugs indifferently. “Had work to finish.”

You give him a knowing grin, poking his ribcage gently. “And you didn’t want to third wheel, right?” 

He rolls his eyes and grimaces. “Also correct.”

He pauses, looking around at the crowds strolling through your exhibit. “All these people here for your photos?”

“Yeah, un-fucking-believable, right? I feel like this isn’t real, that someone just spiked my drinks and I’m tripping on some glorious daydream .. but it’s not. I guess I’m doing something right, but still to process this, that my friends and random strangers are here telling that what I’ve made is brilliant … AND to want to give me money for my stuff, just like” your eyes grow wide as you mime your brain exploding.

You suddenly become very aware of Vladimir’s gaze, now fixed on you. It’s unreadable and intense and you feel the blush creeping back into your face, heartbeat racing.

“What’s that look?”

Vladimir shakes his head innocently but smirks. “I’m not giving look.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, Vladimir’s eyes now sparkling at the sass you’re giving him.

“Vladimir, that was SO a look. Why why why why why why,” you wheedle, tugging at his jacket sleeve and brushing your fingers against his.

Vladimir registers the soft touch of your hand and reacts reflexively, throwing both of you off guard as his hand clasps yours firmly. You stare at him, fully aware of the sudden rush that floods through your veins.

He seems just as surprised as you at his action, but slowly rubs his thumb across the top of your hand.

“You just seem happy. And … I’m happy for you.”

“Y/N, if you pass out at your own gallery exhibition, SO HELP ME GOD,” your head screeches at you again and you try to keep the oxygen flowing to your lungs and brain. But that’s hard with the way Vladimir is looking at you – like you’re all he sees.

You manage not to pass out, smiling earnestly and squeezing his hand back.

“I am, this is one of the best nights I’ve ever had.” You feel the remnants of your wine buzz egging you on and you go with your gut. “And I’m happy you came, Vlad. Do you want to go look now?”

He nods and the pair of you freeze for a second, unsure of whether or not to untangle your fingers.

It’s Vladimir who acts, the conversation with his brother echoing in his head.

“We’re friends, Tolya.

“Ok, ok. Friends. But you want more than that, don’t you?”

“You know you like her, stop being a little bitch about this,” Vladimir thinks to himself, reveling in the intoxicating, dizzying sensation filling his chest as he takes in the feel of your small hand in his.

A crooked grin breaks across his face and he keeps your hand in his, pulling you toward the crowd. He nods to your interlocked fingers.

“You’re stuck with me now, don’t want to lose you in this.”

It’s your turn to rub his hand gently and you look up at him endearingly. “Trust me, I don’t mind.”


	3. Chapter 3

At your words, Vladimir gives you that intense look again and you avert your eyes, pretending to not notice whilst screaming internally.

“Either he kisses me tonight or I kiss him. HE’S HOLDING MY HAND IN PUBLIC FOR GOD’S SAKE!”

Vladimir’s line of thinking is very similar.

“Either she kisses me tonight or I kiss her. SHE’S HOLDING MY HAND AT HER OPENING FOR FUCK’S SAKE!”

Vladimir turns quickly, using his free hand to grab two glasses of red wine from a passing server, handing one off to you which you accept gratefully and clink to his with a laugh before you both simultaneously down generous portions of the deep red liquid. Flirting is one thing, dealing with feelings is another. And if you both needed some liquid courage, then so be it.

You both turn back to the front, looking at the exhibition bio that also features two enlarged pictures of you. The two black and white shots show one of you earnestly laughing behind your DSLR, the other –which you were a bit nervous to show off - was when Latoya found you drunk and depressed, huddled in a ball on the floor of your shower. You’re wearing an over-sized t shirt that clings to your skin, your hair and makeup a mess. You had belligerently insisted that she take a picture and so there you are, red-rimmed eyes and a the ghost of a humorless laugh etched on your features.

You agreed to the coupling of the pictures because you liked the emotional duality and variety that you wanted to express in your pictures, but you were still nervous to show such a different side of yourself –especially to Vladimir.

Vladimir focuses on the second curiously, taking another sip of wine.

“I like that one.”

“Thanks, wasn’t one of my best days but it’s a cool shot … I’m kind of self-conscious about it because it’s kind of weird to most people.”

Vladimir shakes his head with a small smile. “You think I’m like most people, Y/N?”

You roll your eyes as he smirks. “On the contrary, no, but you get what I mean.”

Vladimir nods slowly, his eyes flickering down to the words now. “Well, most people don’t know real pain. And I know you do.” He pauses, weighing his words carefully. “We both do.”

The feel of his scarred hand in yours weighs more heavily and you squeeze it once more, giving him a small smile before you nod to the pictures.

“C’mon. I promise these shots are a lot more interesting than me and the bio.”

Vladimir hesitates for a second, his eyes fixated on the rows of black text, his brow furrowed and making his scar even more pronounceable. He seems agitated; the look on his face bearing resemblance to the ones he gives to Anatoly or Sergei before he starts snarling at them.

And suddenly the obvious hits you like a train and you can’t believe you haven’t noticed it before at work.

“Vlad,” you ask gently. “Can you read in English?”

His jaw sets and from the frustrated look in his face, you know your answer. Your heart hurts at the embarrassment and anger that flashes across his countenance and you try to stop it in its tracks.

You slip your hand out of his and he tenses, his face darkening before you quickly rub his back and the look passes. “Hey, it’s totally fine. I can be your personal translator if you want.”

Vladimir rips his gaze from the wall and turns to you, his frustration dissipating at the sight of your beautiful face, the earnest note in your voice and gaze.

He nods curtly but softens immediately as you lace your fingers back in his. “Thanks, Y/N,”

“Of course,” you say warmly. “Wow, this is going to be weird reading out loud.”

You clear your throat and start to read: “In her exhibit “You Can’t See Stars Without Darkness,” Hell’s Kitchen native and photographer Y/F/N Y/L/N impeccably captures the infamous grittiness of her neighborhood while juxtaposing elements of authentic light and hope. Y/L/N strips away what we think we know about this part of the city with her beautiful, haunting, heartwarming and heartbreaking work, showcasing 50 varied glimpses into the pain and promise in the hearts of Hell’s Kitchen inhabitants and in the environment that surrounds them.”

Vladimir chuckles and shakes his head.

“What?” you ask indignantly.

He looks at you tenderly, almost amazed. He can’t believe that such an intelligent, creative, strong and gorgeous woman is standing here with him so happily. That he hasn’t scared you by now.

“You’re brilliant, you know this?”

You laugh and tug at his hand.

“Let’s actually have you see the gallery, then you can tell me whether you think I’m brilliant or not.”

And so the two of you wander amidst the rows of black and white shots, you translating when Vladimir asks or explaining how you got certain shots. A child playing in the dirt of a ruined front yard while her weary mother yells at him to get back inside. A group of prostitutes laughing candidly on a street corner before parting ways. A couple sharing heroin needles in an alley, the woman’s head on her boyfriend’s shoulder. An ex-fiancee screaming on her knees in front of a homemade memorial for her husband shot to death by a cop. A little girl zooming in front of her parents along the sidewalk as they look on, holding hands. A bachelor party taken to the streets, six cans of beer held high in the air. The list goes on.

Vladimir is entranced by certain photos, not so much by others. He actually laughs out loud at the sight of the little girl running in front of her parents and grows grim at the memorial. You cling to these subtle changes like a lifeline, fully captivated by the nuances in his emotional range. You’ve always believed in more to him; that he wasn’t just a hotheaded mob leader. And you’re being shown right.

Vladimir really does like your artwork, but he likes watching you more. The way you talk with your hands when you get excited, the way your eyes light up or grow darker depending on the picture. The passion that rolls off your tongue for these stories, these moments, these people – he wants you to feel it for him, too. But he decides to wait it out a bit longer.

You wind your way toward the last section and start to notice that the crowd has thinned out; you check your watch and are amazed at how much time has gone by and the gallery is almost closing.

You place yourself in front of Vladimir before you walk into this last section, holding up your hands while he looks at you confusedly.

“So, I was going to tell you when you got here, but I talked to Anatoly when he was here and he said that I should keep this a surprise,” you rush out, your nerves getting to you.

Vladimir looks at you strangely, not sure of what to make of your sudden exclamation. “What did Tolya say to keep surprise?”

You let go of his hand and shift both of his to cover his eyes as he chuckles amusedly.

“Just shut up and just keep your eyes closed, Ranskahov,” you say playfully, but are trying to keep yourself steady. You’re taking a pretty big gamble with this, but everyone you asked told you it was too good to not share – even with Vladimir.

“Alright, alright, closed,” he murmurs. It takes a lot to surprise Vladimir, but he can’t help but feel that tingling sense of anticipation that comes with the unknown.

You slide one finger into the belt loop on his dark jeans, tugging him and giggling at the unexpected “ah!” that comes from him.

“Alright, here you go. You’re either going to love me or hate me for this.”

Vladimir turns himself to face you, opening his eyes before he turns to where you gesture. “I could never hate you, Y/N.”

The unexpected softness in your voice sends your heartbeat spiking, and it takes all you have in you to not kiss him right there. You simply smile and point, watching as his mouth falls slightly agape as he looks at one of the last pictures.

It’s Vladimir. He’s slumped over at his desk, tattooed hands in focus as they cradle his face in exhaustion. His blond hair is more disheveled than ever, but the most striking part of the picture is his expression. His blue eyes are closed gently and radiating a peaceful kind of contentment. There’s no trace of a scowl, or rage, or pain. It’s soft, it’s tranquil. A break from the weight that he carries inside himself and from the world that he’s a part of.

There’s fading sunlight streaming in through the office windows, casting both light and shadows on the crime lord’s handsome, scarred face. Not only did you capture the subject beautifully, but the composition is stunning as well.

Vladimir continues to stare at the picture, speechless. Your anxiety gets the best of you and you feel the need to explain the picture.

“It was that night when you and me passed out in the office after being up all night trying to fix those numbers we fucked up.” You smile fondly in remembrance. “We slept like the whole goddamn day away, and when I woke up, you were still sleeping and I … I don’t know. The way you looked just seemed to represent everything I was trying to show; you know, seeing more than just the outer layer of something. You’re usually so on edge and tense and I guess to see a different side, this big bad Russian just so innocently asleep with the light fading and the contrast between the softness and harshness of your tattoos … I don’t know. It just felt like the right kind of moment to capture.”

Vladimir still doesn’t say anything, his hands running over the picture and pointing at the small text underneath.

“What is it called?”

You have to stifle a laugh. “‘We Never Got Naptime in Siberia.”

Vladimir turns around, his blue eyes bright. This girl, this gorgeous, sweet, brilliant girl – she knows the hardness that fills him, but she sees past it too. She sees more of him than anyone else does. And god, he has never wanted you more – the way you’re standing there smiling nervously and biting your lip, the uncertainty in your wide eyes, fearing that he won’t like it. Looking at you now, all his inhibitions fade away.

“Kiss her, now, or you’re going to be kicking yourself all night. There’s something here and you both know it.” Vladimir’s thoughts around him and he makes his decision. You deserve to see, to know how much he cares about you.

“So, what do you th-”

You’re cut off as Vladimir strides quickly toward you, framing your face in his hands as he pulls your mouth to meet his. He can’t believe it’s taken him so long to do this when kissing you feels this good, this real; the way you feel and taste against him obscuring all other thought other than his desire for more.

Your whole body seems to shut down for a second as his lips meet yours, utterly stunned by this sudden turn of events. You stay paused for a second before your brain turns back on again and you realize that this is real, and all that matters right now in this moment is kissing back that beautiful boy in front of you.

And that you do. You kiss him more deeply, more tenderly than you’ve ever kissed anyone, one hand tugging at the blond hair on the back of his neck while the other snakes around his dark jacket, pulling him flush against you.

A soft moan comes from the back of Vladimir’s throat at the contact with your body, shifting his hands from your face to grip tightly at your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck. It’s your turn to moan when you feel his tongue slip into your willing mouth, meeting it gladly with yours as you take turns sucking and biting each others lips.

It’s actually Vladimir who breaks for air first and you both open your eyes, both starting to laugh at the flush spreading through both of your faces as your chests rise and fall together. Vladimir smiles, keeping his forehead against yours before pressing another kiss to your lips; this time light and sweet. 

You slide your hands down his chest and giggle dazedly as you realize how quickly his heart is racing, matching the pulsing in your own chest.

You look up at him through your eyelashes, closing your eyes at the touch of his thumb running carefully over your cheek. You feel the heat of his gaze even with your eyes closed and open them again, pulling back slightly with your arms still locked around his neck.

“I guess you really liked the picture.”

You both burst out laughing and Vladimir clasps one of your hands in both of his. “Yeah.” He smiles sincerely, sending even more butterflies cascading through your chest. “Like you more, though.” He pauses for a second, the words tumbling out in a cascade of exhilaration. “I have for while, but didn’t know how to tell you or if you … if you felt same. Didn’t want to make fool of myself, you know?”

You nod and take his hand, kissing it firmly and looking up at him with a smile. “I felt the same way. I’m glad you were the one who finally kissed me though,” you admit sheepishly. “I didn’t know if I was going to have the balls to do it tonight.”

Vladimir’s chest fills with a dizzying kind of unfamiliar happiness as he hears you admit that you felt – and feel – the same.

“Well,” he starts slowly, his traditional wicked grin breaking across his face, a stark contrast to how delicately he moves a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You can kiss me all you like now.”

“Mm, I’ll take you up on that offer.” You grin back and press your lips against his again, much more softly this time, and break away with a gentle tug at his lower lip that leaves him chuckling mischievously.

You smile, grabbing his one hand while his other wraps snugly around your waist and moving toward the exit.

“C’mon, Ranskahov, let’s go somewhere where you can show me how much you REALLYYYY like me.”

Vladimir’s face lights up and he draws your face to his hungrily, but you only allows one kiss before you pull back with a smile, running a hand through his blond hair affectionately.

“So smart, so sweet, so sexy,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. He grins and playfully nips at your ear as you laugh in protest, but let your head lull onto his shoulder as you walk into the cool night air. He mimics your suggestive, playful tone from before: “Can’t wait to show how much I realllly like you.”

“Me either.”

Despite your flirty banter and knowing full well that you’re making intense, sweet love when you get back to your apartment, there’s still a sweetness, a tenderness in the air between you and in the way your fingers intertwine. Neither of you say it, but you both know it’s true: you’re not just on your way to some one night stand, no, you’re both on you’re way to falling in love. Some things you just see and know to be real, to feel it deep your bones, and this is one of them.


End file.
